


Safe and Warm

by noahlikeswaffles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, BAMF Greg Lestrade, Dom Greg Lestrade, Dom Mycroft, Dom/Sub AU, Dom/sub, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Homelessness, M/M, Multi, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Feels Guilty, Sherlock is a Brat, Subdrop, background Johnlock, donovan is a bit not good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahlikeswaffles/pseuds/noahlikeswaffles
Summary: Mycroft and Greg have been acting as Sherlock's Doms for years now. Now that his care has fallen onto the shoulders of one John H. Watson, it's time they had a submissive of their own.Shy, bookish and sweet submissive Oliver has just turned 16, which means he's eligible to be matched with a Dominant.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade/Original Character(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 57





	1. matched

Greg can remember exactly when he got that call. He was at his desk, slumped over a _mountain_ of case files, the smell of smoke and bad coffee stale in the squad room air. Summer murder rush. 

"Myc," He yawned as he held the phone to his ear, "what's up?"

"we got a match," Mycroft said with a reverent grin, and the DI practically lept out of his chair, gasping and standing on his feet. 

"Who is he? When can we meet him? Have you met him already? Because I swear-"

"Gregory! Calm down! I haven't met him, Anthea's only just been handed me the file. His name is Oliver."

" _Oliver_ ," Greg tested it on his lips, practically beaming, his heart overjoyed. "He sounds perfect."

"You haven't heard anything about him yet!"

"Don't care. He's perfect."

"Gregory, do be reasonable. No doubt he's perfect, but details are important."

"Yeah, whatever, where's he from?"

"Camden. He's sixteen."

"Oh, wow. That's-"

"Rather younger than we were anticipating, I know," Mycroft supplied.

Greg scratched his head nervously, "sixteen..."

"The data doesn't lie, my dearest, he's a 98% match." Mycroft glanced over the charts and graphs. 

Congratulations, [ Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade ] you have been assigned!

_Fernsby, Oliver G._

_sex: M_

_classification: s_

_DOB:11 March 2005, 9:03pm_

_age: 16_

_height: 5'4"_

_weight: 59kg_

_hair colour: black_

_eye colour: other (note: hazel)_

_race: mixed (note: Nigerian/British ancestry)_

_orientation: bisexual (slight homosexual preference)_

_(e-gram) personality_ _: 5_

_(16-type) personality: INFP_

_headspace age: N/A_

_headpsace species: N/A_

_sub7 levels: 850 picograms per milliliter_

_pain threshold: 5.24_

_obedience marker: 9.65_

_Dominant familias: none_

"98%? That's impossible!"

"Nearly impossible, yes." Mycroft sighed and Greg couldn't help but smile because he knew on the other end of the line Mycroft was doing that cute thing with his hands he does when he's nervous. "Our arranged meeting is tomorrow," 

"That soon?" Greg's stomach flipped over. He had to get home and fix things up a bit... they hadn't been anticipating a match this quickly, the room they'd put together was sparse. What did he like? Would he like them? His whole body was thrumming with anxiety, his chest aching to see _his_ sub. 

"I also am suspicious of this timeline...he must be on the rush list."

Greg nodded, a bit sad. The rush list was reserved for subs who were victims of abuse, homeless, or didn't have anyone to look after them while they were in the application process. As a cop he had signed enough papers putting kids on the list to know. Subs, especially teens were so at risk for exploitation or violence. 

"I'll have a more thorough report tonight at home, darling," Mycroft sighed, flipping the manilla folder closed and handing it to Anthea. "Oh and I inputed an excuse for your absence for the rest of the day, in case you wanted to prepare the house a bit?"

"How do you read my mind, I ask, _how_?" Greg chuckled, packing up his things and flipping the keys to his motorcycle in his hand. "I'll see you tonight, gorgeous," 

"And I you, goldfish."

"You flatter me," Greg rolled his eyes and hung up the phone, giddy and nervous and protective and a whole other slew of emotions as he raced out the door. "I'm out Donovan, won't be in tomorrow!"

Oh gosh, a sub, they're getting a sub. Oliver. Greg beamed to himself in the lift. This was the greatest day of his life, second only to his wedding, and perhaps Sherlock's collaring last month. He was so proud of his Oliver, he hadn't even met him and he was proud. 

God, how amazing was this??? 


	2. bad sub

Oliver swallowed nervously, approaching the curvy glass door of the white building. His heart was hammering so loudly he could barely walk straight. He looked down at the paper in his hands. 

_Congratulations, [Oliver], you have been assigned to Dominant(s) [Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade]. Further information will follow._

He looked up at the big shiny building, his hands shaking. He'd gone to the public library yesterday, and googled his new Doms. The first one was completely absent from any website he could find, no information at all, which was spooky. The second, Mr. Lestrade, had his picture all over the place. He was really pretty, Oliver thought, and much older than he'd imagined, but Oliver hadn't ever had a Dom before, so maybe the age difference was normal. Oliver had clicked through picture after picture, his tummy excited and his cheeks warm. 

Had his Doms chosen him? Or had the computer chosen him for them?

Then he saw one from the newspaper. He clicked the link and read. Something about serial killings, he didn't really read that bit too closely until he saw it.

A police detective. 

Oliver couldn't help but shudder at the thought of having a policeman for a Dom. Was he allowed to ask to not be assigned at all? He really didn't like cops. Oliver realized he probably didn't have any choice at all in the matter.

scribbled under the official note in tipex he'd written,

_Scotland Yard-_ _Victoria Embankment, Westminster, London SW1A 2JL_

He looked up at the big scary building that was thrumming with Doms in suits and uniforms. He kept his eyes down as he approached, holding his backpack straps tight in his fists. He didn't know how to tell the postman that had delivered his notice to the youth shelter that his bed was being given to someone else tonight, that he wouldn't have anywhere for them to send the "further information''. 

He stepped in through the door and went into the lobby, looking around to find someone.

Oliver screetched as he was rammed backwards by a much stronger body, something hot and liquid drenching his shirt and scortching his skin. 

"Oi! Watch where you're going!" A woman shouted at him.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry," He dropped to his knees to pick up her dropped coffee cup. Written on the side it said _Sally_. "So sorry, ma'am," He handed it back to her, peeking a glance up at her curly hair and slim nose. 

"What are you doing in here?" She furrowed her brows.

"I-uh, looking for someone, ma'am, my Dom. He's uh, he works here, I think,"

"You think?" She looked scary, really scary, and Oliver wanted to run. Fast and as far away as possible. She glared at his bare neck above his ratty sweatshirt, "Where's your collar?"

"Well, I haven't met him yet,"

"Oh I see," She squinted at him. "What's in here?" She grabbed his backpack and tugged at it, flipping him around like he was a ragdoll and ripping the zipper open to look inside.

"Hey! That's mine! Stop it! I haven't got anything bad, it's just my clothes!" 

She slapped him across the face, harshly, and he whimpered, reaching up to cup his stinging cheek.

"sorry, sorry ma'am, it's just my clothes, I don't do drugs,"

"I'm having a hard time believing you, how did you get through security?"

"I just walked in, over there," He pointed to the door, only to see that he'd bypassed the metal detectors in his excitement. His stomach dropped and he noticed there were three other people approaching them, these ones in real ploice uniforms. 

He turned to look at the Dom woman, who was beckoning them over. He took two step away before she saw him. Her strong fingers grabbed him by the back of his neck, nails digging into the skin there that paralyzed a sub. He could barely squeak before he found himself face-first on the floor, her knee digging into his back.

A small crowd had began to form, mostly Doms, a few subs carrying boxes of files behind them, looking down at the dodgy looking sub getting handcuffed in the middle of Scotland Yard.

"Please, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, please let me go."

"We've got a few questions for you, boy, and you're not going anywhere."

Oliver's eyes were blurry with thick tears that he could barely hope to control, his whole body gone slack. Biologically, he wanted only to obey this woman, to show her he was good, he wasn't bad. He wasn't a bad sub. 

He wanted Mr. Lestrade, and Mr. Holmes, really badly. He didn't even know them, but he was scared, and alone, and he wanted to dissapear. 


	3. lost

The policeman on duty in the holding cell was beginning to worry about the tiny boy behind the bars. His cloud-like black hair, trimmed a bit hap haphazardly, was hung between his shoulders, his knees pressed to his chest. He was keeping rather quiet, considering the fact he hadn't stopped crying since he'd been brought down. He was being held on charges of breaking and entering, resisting arrest, assaulting an officer. The policeman could've laughed. This sub didn't look like he could hurt a fly, let alone an officer. He was being held separately from the two other detainees, two Doms, who watched with a predatory gaze over the beautiful sub. Oliver had soft, acorn skin, with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His hair was like a fluff of dark wool, soft and spriny, and his eyes were dark, but in the sunlight shone with flecks of gold and green. 

Oliver hiccuped, frantically rocking back and forth on the bench. What were his Dominants going to say? Would they beat him? He wasn't even their sub yet....he didn't know the rules...he didn't know if he could still be rejected. He didn't want to go back on the streets, or the shelter. He was so scared, and he was hungry, and cold. Salty tears trickled down his cheeks again as he thought of it. The shame hot in his cheeks, his breaths tight and shallow. 

Why would his Doms want him at all? He scolded himself for even thinking they wanted him. He was dirty, and ugly and he was bad. He was a bad sub. He was in jail! What kind of first impression was that? They'd take one look and see he was nothing but trouble, nothing but a burden. And then he'd been even more alone than before.

The thought sent a broken sob through his chest. 

"Is there a call you can make, kid?" The policeman said, and Oliver gasped, looking up quickly before looking down again, not wanting to be disrespectful and get in more trouble.

"No, sir," Oliver choked, shaking his head before he stopped and turned up to look into the seemingly kind man's eyes, "actually, there is someone, but I don't know the number. Sir," He hung his head again, a slight breeze blowing chilly on his puffy, tear stained cheeks.

"Tell me who it is an' I'll see what I can do,"

"My Doms, well, not my Doms yet, I was supposed to meet them," Oliver whimpered, "Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Holmes,"

The policeman only stared blankly at him. Was this some sort of joke?

"Mycroft Holmes? Do you know him?" Oliver said with brightening eyes, blinking up innocently at the man who could only gape.

"You're kidding me, oh my god, I'll be right back," Oliver cocked his head and watched the man practically run to the desk, jamming a number into the phone and speaking in a very tight voice, glancing over at the shivering, tiny sub in the cell. 

* * *

Greg growled at the mess of wood and screws on the floor of Sherlock's old room and threw the instruction manual against the wall. So what if he was shit at DIY?! He was a detective not a builder! Ikea only sold torture devices meant to torment your physche with diagrams and Swedish vowels- the whole flatpack thing was clearly just a cover. 

Greg rubbed his temples and groaned, deciding he'd go downstairs and have a beer. Because he might as well be drunk for how well he's built the new chest of drawers so far. 

He was interrupted on his way down the stairs by his phone, and he saw the number was Myc. He smiled and picked up the phone. 

"What?!"

"She what?!"

"Where?"

"Do you know why?"

"Alright, I'm out the door right now. Christ. I'll meet you at the Yard, yes, yes, alright. Love you too, goodbye,"

Lestrade pulled on his coat and the door closed behind him with a slam.


	4. and found

Oliver shivered, holding himself tightly folded in the corner of his cell as the sun began to set in the tiny windows. He was more exhausted than anything at this point, and he wished he had his backpack to put his gloves and hat on. A really nice lady at a church he used to get food and supplies at had knit them for him. They were bright neon green, but he thought they were lovely. And they kept him warm on nights like this.

Mycroft would like to think he was far more collected than he was, speed-walking through the basement of Scotland yard. He stopped short. A soft whimpering was echoing against the dirty, painted cement wall. Mycroft went pale when he saw how bad of shape his new boy was in. Needed a good shower and a warm bed more than anything, and lots of gentle care. He was far too close to a drop for Mycroft's comfort.

"Oliver," He said, softly and gently.The boy lifted his head to hear his name, his heart leaping to see an auburn-haired Dom approaching, dressed in a tailored cut 3-piece suit. He radiated posh, every move elegant and powerful, if not slightly out of breath. 

Nothing was said, and Oliver could feel the older gentleman's gaze over him. The sub was slightly confused when the door opened with a clang. Oliver stuttered, unsure what to do. Such a powerful Dominance was almost too overwhelming. He slid awkwardly to his knees, hands on his thighs and chin down. 

"There's no need for that, sweetheart," Mycroft said sweetly, crouching down and petting Oliver's hair, in a non-aggressive and assuring gesture, right by his ear where it felt _so_ good. Oliver swallowed thickly and looked closer at the man touching him. His eyes were dark blue, and had a hypnotic sharpness- like he could see through Oliver in an instant. 

"Mycroft?"

The man nodded and pulled him in tight to a hug. Oliver's tears refreshed almost instantly, enveloped in warm arms and he could only sigh and melt into the touch. It felt so nice, so warm. And Sir smelled so good- warm and masculine and just a little bit like dark chocolate. Mycroft seemed like a quiet type, silently rubbing a soothing circle on his back. 

"I'm so so-rry sir"

"You didn't do anything wrong." He said firmly. 

"I didn't mean to skip the metal detector, I didn't know how to find you and- and- I got my letter and I didn't want to do anything wrong- I didn't want to be bad- I am very sorry sir," Oliver babbled, blushing at his own bumbling words.

"What happened was not your fault, Oliver, nor acceptable, in any light. Sargent Donovan will be placed under serious investigation for her behavior." Mycroft couldn't help but growl, and the sub in his arms went weak, turning his neck in submission. 

"Oh, I do apologize, dear, I didn't mean to frighten you. I only hope you can forgive us for such a horrible first impression,"

Forgive them? Oliver was puzzled. He was the one who'd misbehaved. He was the one who'd gotten arrested!

"But how did you- but- you don't know me-"

"It's mine and Gregory's responsibility to keep you safe, my darling, and you were not treated safely today."

There was a silence and Oliver could only stutter and hiccup as he tried to get his breathing back, slumped against Mycroft's warm shoulder. 

"It's really nice to meet you, sir," Oliver mumbled, voice whispery soft. 

"Oh, you have no idea how nice it is to have you at last, darling," Mycroft pulled back to dab at Oliver's wet cheeks with his handkerchief, "knowing that you won't be out on your own anymore."

"You're going to keep me, sir?" Oliver whispered, "After all this trouble?"

"Taking care of my submissive is never a trouble or burden to me, know that full well, sweet boy," Mycroft pat his back and sighed. Oliver realized with a start that he was now settled on Mycroft's hip, his face still resting on his shoulder. He wondered how important his new Dom must be that he could simply come and open the doors like that. Perhaps maybe if he was allowed he could ask later. 

Oliver's eyes began to glaze, his focus unsteady and his tongue heavy in his mouth. He felt like dead weight in Mycroft's arms, his whole body burning with shame and embarrassment and horrible dark thoughts ran through his head. He still felt awful in his tummy, he still felt so naughty. So disappointing. 

"I don't feel so good,"

"I know, baby, I know. You're dropping. We ought to get you home. Once Gregory has finished with Donovan of course,"

* * *

Upstairs, a dark storm cloud was brewing in the homicide department. All eyes were focused on the closed door and blinds of DI Lestrade's office. Donovan was either dead already, or getting the dressing down of a lifetime. 

Based on the shouting it was probably the latter. 

"-the hell were you thinking, Donovan? Do you understand how many codes you've broken? How many laws? Attacking an unarmed sub in the middle of NSY?! Unwarranted search and seizure! False imprisonment! This is...I'm beyond _disbelief_ with this behavior!"

"Sorry boss," Sally growled through grit teeth. 

"Maybe things are different between you and Anderson, but hitting a sub that is not your own is NOT OKAY! On the face, Donovan? Do you understand the kind of legal ramifications you'd be facing if I wasn't covering your ass?!" 

"Yes boss,"

"You're off the team, for at least 6 weeks. Unpaid leave. I'll have to run it through the higher ups but I have a slight suspicion they'll agree. And maybe, _maybe_ , in 6 weeks, you can come back and beg me on your knees to have your badge back. But that's only because I know this," He gestured vaguely to indicate the whole mess she'd made, "is below you. Below the dignity of any good Dom to handle a submissive like that. Forget chivalry, what about common sense? Did you really think he was going to hit you? I saw the tape. He was a scared kid. A scared, hungry, vulnerable kid who you are required by law to protect. Not to hurt, or take advantage of."

"I understand boss, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, you'd better be. Now I'm going to go home now, but I'm taking your ID, and your keycard to the building."

Sally reluctantly handed them over, her cheeks dark with shame. She turned to leave.

"And Donovan?"

"Yes sir?"

"If you lay a finger on my sub again, if you speak ill of my sub again, if you even look at him the wrong way, I won't hesitate to fire you on the spot. Are we clear?" He growled.

"Yes sir."

"Oliver is not another Sherlock for you to fuck around with. Sherlock's a big boy and can fight back when he needs to. Oliver is not so strong as to be anywhere an equal to you. You respect him, and then _maybe,"_ He looked absolutely terrifying, dominance radiating in waves, "we can talk about you earning my trust back."

Sally could only nod before she left, the door clicking shut behind her. The wind was absolutely knocked out of Greg, his head spinning. The poor lad. Hopefully Mycroft would have some idea as to how they could make this right for him. 


	5. home

Gregory rushed into the front lobby, bursting in from the stairwell just in time to see the elevator doors open. He sagged in relief to see Mycroft, Oliver and Anthea. 

"Oh thank god," He whispered, "thank god," He jogged over, his husband's face pale and his lips tight in distress. Greg furrowed his brows before he got a closer look at Ollie, who was almost completely dropped. His eyes were drooped closed, his arms latched tight around Mycroft's neck and he was so obviously trembling he looked like he was spasming.

"Oh Jesus," Greg breathed, reaching a hand to cup his delicately soft cheek. Ice cold. "This isn't supposed to happen with subs in custody!" He growled. What the hell did the laws about safety and care of subs needing correction even mean to anyone these days? Sometimes Greg wondered if the whole system wasn't too far gone to fix.

"I know, my darling, I'm afraid I know. We need to get him home straight away,"

"Not the hospital?"

"He's already had enough excitement for one day, don't you think?" Greg nodded, taking the tarnished backpack Anthea offered before she opened the door for them, and Greg nodded his thank you, too focused on his new boy for pleasantries. Once in the slick black government vehicle, Mycroft settled Oliver into the middle seat, buckling him in, carefully checking the strap with such care that Greg wanted to kiss his face off. Not that Greg didn't ever not want to kiss his face off.

"Oliver, open your eyes," Mycroft pat his cheek softly, and Oliver blinked and obeyed, his eyes glossy and unfocused. 

"Sir?"

"Oh that's a good lad, Ollie, such a good boy," Gregory whispered as the car pulled away, arm wrapped around the trembling boy's shoulder. 

Oliver was quiet, slumped over Greg's shoulder as Mycroft called the house staff.

"No that won't be necessary, yes, thank you Maria, goodbye." He ended the call and tucked his mobile into his pocket, cooing and turning to look after Oliver. Gregory squeezed him gently, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before peeking playfully over to his husband.

"He's perfect, Mycroft." He whispered.

"I cannot argue there, my dear," Mycroft smirked, tucking a coil of black hair out of his eyes. He always did love brown eyes.

"I'd forgotten what it's like," Greg grinned like a schoolboy, "do you remember when Sherlock was this age?"

"I'm afraid I do," Mycroft chuckled. 

"He's so tiny," Greg breathed, caressing his cheekbone.

"He's done growing, I would say, subs usually are by now," 

"Nnnngh," Oliver groaned, latched onto Greg's warmth, nose pressed into the safe cinnamon-y smell of his white button up. 

"Oh, I know sweetheart, we're almost home," Greg murmured.

"I'd have him on his knees, but I'd hate for him to be unbuckled in the car," Mycroft said with a distraught sadness, torn between soothing the drop and car safety. 

"We're only a few minutes out, do you have any emergency tablets?"

Anthea popped her head through the divider to the front seat, holding out a prescription bottle

"Oh you're a blessing, luv, thank you," Gregory smiled, shifting Oliver gently over to Myc's shoulder, taking the bottle and measuring out two white tablets. "Oliver, open your mouth." 

The sub blinked a few times, headpsace thick and groggy, before he understood, holding his mouth open as wide as possible. 

"Oh that's a good boy, perfect." Greg fetched a water bottle from the little fridge, placing the tablets on his tongue and placing the lid up to his lips. 

"Drink. Swallow. Good. You're doing so good for us," Mycroft soothed and Oliver whimpered, holding onto his throat. He didn't like swallowin pills. He squirmed in his seat, tugging on his seat belt. 

"No, Ollie, _still_." Greg instructed, wrapping his hand tightly around one light brown wrist, Mycroft holding the other in a makeshift restraint. Oliver trembled, struggling weakly before he breathed out a sigh of relief, nose tucked into Greg chest. 

"We've arrived, sir," Anthea informed them, the car slowing to a stop. Gregory got out, unbuckled Oliver and pulled him up by his armpits, carrying him and heading into the large manor house. Mycroft slid out of the car after him, stopping by the passenger window. Anthea handed him the boy's ratty backpack. 

"Please inform the PM I won't be in for the next few days,"

"Already done, sir,"

"Thank you," Mycroft said absently, already taking off towards the house.

"Oh and sir? Take good care of him," The Dom looked up from her mobile and gave a genuine concerned glance towards the door. ""He deserves it. Anything you need, text me anytime. I mean it, sir."

"I will, thank you," Mycroft replied, exchanging a kind look with his assistant. She was a good worker, and a good Dominant. The window rolled up and the car pulled out of the gravel drive. 


	6. bedtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in case I'm horrible at descriptions and if you need a face to a name, Oliver is played by a young Richard Ayoade*
> 
> *also it gets pretty fluffy this chapter watch out*

The houselights were dimmed already when Gregory pushed in the front door, dropping his keys in the dish and helping Oliver to his feet. 

"There you are, baby, feet on the floor, lean on me." Oliver did what he was told, head lolling between his shoulders. Greg lead him gently by the wrist, and Oliver meekly followed into the sitting room. Greg smiled and leaned forward, examining his face, admiring each little freckle that dotted his sweet blushing cheeks. He'd always had a soft spot for freckles. He sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, keeping his eyes on the boy. 

" _Kneel_ , Oliver," 

Oliver dropped hard to the floor, and Greg was grateful for the ornate plush rug. 

"Here boy," He tapped his thigh, and Oliver shuffled closer. "that's a lad," He grinned, pulling him gently by the hair until his cheek rested on Greg's knee, the sub breathing a content sigh, sniffing deep gulfs of Greg's calming scent.

He heard the front door open and close, and smiled "Mycroft's going to make us some tea, love, do you like tea?" 

Simple yes or no questions would help, Greg thought, placing his large dry palm across the back of neck, thumb brushing a tiny circle. 

"Yes, sir," Oliver murmured with a soft smile. He was floating on a cloud.

Mycroft grinned as he game in through the sitting room towards the kitchen, saving the beautiful image of his gorgeous husband and sub like this. 

"Milk and sugar, darling?" He called.

"Black for me. Oliver? Would you like milk and sugar in your tea?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir,"

"Oh what a sweet boy, such good manners," Greg ruffled his fluff of springy curls.

Oliver almost whimpered from the shiver of endorphins the praise was sending down his spine, his cheeks hot and his mind drunk with pleasure, pushing his head up into the pets.

"Here we are," Mycroft smiled, setting the tray down on the coffee table, handing Oliver's mug to Greg, leaning down to exchange a sloppy delicous kiss. The DI chuckled warmly, slipping his tongue in.

"Oh you're cheeky," Mycroft teased. Greg only grinned, holding the mug to Oliver's plush pale pink lips. He obediently took a few long sips of the warm beverage and Greg thanked his husband silently for not making it too hot.

"thank you sir, it's very good sir,"

"Oh isn't he polite?" Mycroft tilted his head.

"He is, isn't he?" Greg laughed, and Oliver glowed with happiness. He wiggled his bum and rubbed his cheek against Greg's trousers, the fabric soft and cool against his blushing skin. 

"Feeling better, Oliver?" Myc asked as he settled into the armchair next to the sofa.

"yes, sir, very much, thank you sirs,"

"Do you want to watch a film, darling?" Mycroft asked, noticing that Oliver was probably going to need a few hours on his knees.

"Oh, please. Your pick."

Greg hmmed as Mycroft flipped through their streaming services, settling on a nature documentary, something soothing and gentle for their boy. David Attenborough gently narrated the scene. 

"... _Antarctica may seem desolate, abandoned, and it is in fact the largest desert on the planet. But even here, life blooms. Emperor Penguins, the largest type of these flightless birds, have began their mating season. Now you might be wondering, why these two males are so interested in each other. Same-sex unions may not be so rare in the natural world, and these two have just found an egg of their own to carry. Watch as they take turns fetching pebbles for their nest..."_

The Doms patiently sipped their tea, Greg every now and then offering a sip to Oliver, who slowly settled into his 'space, happily gobbling a biscuit or two from Greg's fingers, licking away the crumbs like a kitten. Greg couldn't help himself from giggling at the ticklish sensation. 

A few hours later, and Greg felt a wet spot forming on the top of his knee, glancing down to see the sub had fallen dead asleep, drooling lightly. Mycroft noticed this as well, turning the volume of the telly down a bit. Greg stretched his arm out to put his now cold cup of tea on the side table, careful not to jostle his leg. They'd hoped the first day home they could go over rules, expectations, give him a tour of the house, but it was already half past ten, and their poor boy needed rest.

Mycroft read his mind, as usual, and whispered, "we can talk in the morning, darling, but why don't we take him to our room for the night. I wouldn't want to leave him like this."

"No, me neither," Gregory gently reached down and pulled the sleepy sub into his arms. Oliver stirred, blinking awake, but Mycroft was already behind Gregory, shushing him and petting his cheek. 

"Rest, Oliver."

Oliver closed his eyes obediently and Greg smiled, carrying him up the stairs and down the corridor into the master bedroom. Attached was their gigantic ensuite, as well as the door to Oliver's new room. Myc popped in there to grab some things. Oliver's backpack had already been migrated to the foot of the twin bed, but myc went straight for the closet, grabbing a pair of pyjama bottoms and fuzzy warm socks from the new clothes he'd ordered in Oliver's measurements. He'd had Anthea buy almost everything he could think of, not knowing what the young boy would like. 

He flipped the light off and went into his own room, giving Greg a nod and switching places, letting the older man get undressed as he took care of the sleepy boy who he'd sat up on top of the bed. 

"I'm going to undress you, Oliver, is that okay?" Mycroft asked gently, and Oliver nodded. "Words please,"

"Yes sir, that's okay," Oliver smiled with a yawn, attempting to tug off his own sweatshirt, but his hands were clumsy, still floating in subspace. Mycroft only smiled patiently, pulling it up over his head himself, then removing the t-shirt that had a hole right by the sleeve. Mycroft tsked once the boy was shirtless, finger tracing over his exposed ribs. Oliver shuddered, that tickled! 

Mycroft's lips had pursed with concern, not liking how fragile the submissive was, growling at the bruise that shown faintly across his chest from where he'd been shoved to the ground earlier. He knew that if Oliver had lighter skin, more sickening marks would show, so he inspected him carefully, gently searching for other bruises. 

His poor boy. 

Greg returned and paled as well, stomach tight, a memory of Sherlock floating in his mind. When Sherlock's drug problem had reached it's lowest, he'd looked like this, skin and bone and all bashed. The Dom in him was furious, seething almost, but one look at Oliver's soft sad eyes calmed him, and he quickly fished one of his old t-shirts from their closet, handing it to Mycroft. 

It was so big on him that Greg couldn't help but chuckle, realizing he'd handed him his _Sex Pistols_ screenprint from when he was a teenager. Oliver blinked and bunched up a big of the fabric, pressing his nose into and sighing. It was a calming mixture of cinnamon and just a little bit of musk. Mycroft tugged down Oliver's jeans and pants, and both gave him respect and privacy with that area, the auburn Dom quickly pulling his pyjamas up to his waist, tying a loose bow at the waist to keep them up. His measurements must have changed from when he was registered, or perhaps someone had lied about the boys real condition. 

Greg knew they'd have in good shape soon enough though, with a healthy diet of delicious food (he still hadn't gotten over the fact that Mycroft had a private chef, even after 11 years of marriage). 

Myc pulled the covers down, slipping Oliver into the Egyptian cotton sheets, and the boy let out an almost sinful moan at how soft the mattress was. He hadn't slept on something so comfortable in his whole _life._

Myc lay down after him, settling on his side as Oliver flipped to his tummy, tucking his arms under his chest like a cat. That had to be the cutest, weirdest sleeping position Mycroft had ever seen. Greg left the bathroom light on, leaving the door cracked open as he shuffled into the bedroom, collapsing onto the other side of the bed with a sigh. His joints were angry with him from carrying the sub around everywhere. It was totally worth it though. He'd just have to get used to it. Sherlock had always been fussy, and honestly far too tall to be carried in a comfortable way. 

Greg smiled as he settled on his back, the sub slowly migrating to lay on his bare chest, tiny little puffs of hair from his mouth warm on the dom's golden skin. Mycroft sighed happily, scootching closer, drawing a pattern on the sub's clothed back, tucked protectively around his tiny body. 

"Goodnight Gregory, goodnight Oliver,"

"'Night," Said his husband, smirking when he noticed Oliver was already out cold. "Love you two,"

"mm, agreed," Mycroft hummed.

Oliver snored softly, and had the most wonderful dreams that night.


	7. rules

Oliver woke slowly, stre-e-e-etching in the most delicious sheets he'd ever felt on his skin. He rubbed his eyes, blinking at the sunlight filtering through an open window, and he realized he had no idea where he was or how he got here. He sat up quickly, a twinge of fear in his chest. He was alone, in a gigantic bedroom, covered by a blanket that probably cost more than all of worldly possessions combined. He looked down and realized he was in different clothes...when had that happened? They looked familiar...he sniffed the t-shirt, confused when a warm tightness filled his belly. 

Suddenly, a few disjointed memories of last night came back to him. He was in his Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Holmes's house, his Doms had dressed and slept with him. The thought sent a blush to his cheeks, and he shimmied out from under the duvet, standing on bare feet, a very plush carpet between his toes. He looked around again, feeling a cold roll of loneliness not to see anybody there. 

Had he done something wrong? His lip wobbled and he bit down on it, hands trembling. He didn't want to be rejected, he only wanted to be good. 

He carefully pushed open the first door he found, exploring the attached second bedroom. The walls were a soft cream with antique floral pattern, with an ornate white twin bed, made with a silky and expensive blue comforter. There was a chest of drawers, a desk and a bookshelf. He gasped to see his own books had been placed there, their shiny library covers looking silly next to the leather-bound, probably first editions that filled it floor to ceiling. He ran his fingers across the spines, his mouth open in a small 'O'. 

He peeked inside the drawers, finding his own jeans and t-shirt washed and folded in the first drawer, next to a whole wardrobe with shopping tags on it.

He shut the drawer quickly, so confused and feeling awfully cold. He'd only been in headspace three times before, but he knew that this was what comedown felt like. He also knew Doms usually stayed with subs through the comedown. _Aftercare_ was the word for it, he remembered from the pamphlet he'd gotten at school when he'd presented as a sub during his maths lesson. It had been so embarrassing. But he treasured everything he'd learned at school so close to his heart, the memory didn't seem so horrible now. 

He remembered showing his mum when his GCSE scores came. 

Perfect 9s in all his subjects. 

She had been so proud of him. He had done a good job, he'd done good for her. Nothing had felt better in the world. 

But mum was gone now. 

Oliver's cheeks flushed when he realized his eyes were teary again. The door to the bedroom clicked open and Oliver jumped away from the bookcase, tucking his hands behind his back. He didn't want to get in trouble for snooping if he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh! Oliver! You're awake!" Mycroft stood in the doorway, his expensive suit immaculately pressed and orderly. 

"Yes sir, but I just woke up, sir," Oliver added quickly, in case he was supposed to still be asleep.

"You don't have to call me sir when you aren't in your headspace, darling,"

The boy nodded.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Mycroft said with a slight concerned scowl, approaching and laying a hand on his shoulder. 

"Fine sir, I mean- just fine."

"You're cold." The dom said, more as a statement than an observation. Mycroft breezed through to the attatched bedroom and fetched his own dressing grown. Oliver watched curiously as he came back and held it out for him to slip into. "There, is that better?"

"Yes, sir, much better," Oliver held up the ginormous sleeves and laughed, and Mycroft quickly rolled them up,

"Oh, thank you sir," Oliver giggled warmly, and Mycroft was smitten with his dimples. 

"It's perfectly alright, darling, whatever makes you comfortable." Mycroft said patiently, "You needn't fear punishment for any lack of formality."

"I hope this room isn't too feminine, we weren't sure what you'd like. We can always change it, if you'd prefer"

"This room is for me?"

"Of course" Mycroft said with a crinkled brow and Oliver leaped up to wrap himself around his Dom.

"Thank you so much, sir," He whispered, and Mycroft shuddered at how absolutely delicious his little voice crack was.

"You're very welcome, darling." Mycroft smiled. 

The skinny boy blushed, scratching at his hair bashfully. 

"Um, Mycroft?"

"Yes, darling?"

"May I- that is, would you hold me?" Mycroft grinned, pulling him into his arms tightly. Oliver slid bonelessly against his Dom, tucking his nose into Mycroft's scent and sighing in relief. 

"We'll go over your rules and expectations when Gregory finishes his work, darling, he had to work from home this morning to finalize some paperwork," _Finish suspending Seargant Donovan_. He didn't say, he didn't want to bring the incident up ever again. 

"It's time to eat, come along," Mycroft tugged Oliver by his hand down the coridor, and the sub could only gape at how large the house was. It was old too- but not in the run down way, the posh way, with oil paintings and suits of armour and lush wallpaper. Like a museum. Or a palace. The sub following him closely as they came into the kitchen after seemingly walking miles. 

Oliver smiled to himself when he heard the radio playing, seeing Mr. Lestrade, Gregory, that is, dancing in the kitchen as he made breakfast. There was a plate already set to hold the bacon as it cooked, and Mycroft stood at the counter and pinched a piece, nibbling absently.

"Glad to see the meeting went well," Mycroft observed, starting when his husband slipped his arms in around his waist as Oliver shyly stood a few feet off, blushing hard. The auburn haired man grinned and pushed back a bit into Greg's hips, earning a bite on his ear.

"Don't touch anything yet, you'll burn these beautiful hands," Lestrade pulled the younger Dom's delicate, posh fingers to his lips, licking the bacon grease off them one at a time.

"I've touched things that were hotter," Mycroft growled dangerously. 

"I think we might be embarassing Oliver," Greg gave the boy a smirk, watching him fumble with his fingers awkwardly. 

"Yes, Oliver, why don't you take a seat at the table, and we can talk, alright?"

"Yes, sir," Oliver turned and rushed out into the dining room, cheeks hot, so turned on by watching both his sexy dominants speak that way. He squeezed his eyes shut and adjusted Mycroft's robe so that his not-yet obvious erection was hidden. 

Greg sighed once they were alone. 

"I hope he doesn't think we're some sort of pedophiles,"

"He's not underage, Gregory,"

"He's not far above age, Myc. I don't want to push him, but Christ, he's just- drop dead gorgeous."

"Things weren't sexual for me and Sherlock, you know that," Mycroft was right. Dom/sub dynamics were sexual, but not always.

Subs were vulnerable, delicate, and needed instruction and rules in order to thrive. Their fine-tuned sensibilities, while beautiful and creative and often very insightful, left them sensitive to overload, anxiety.

A sub in overload would "drop" as a measure of biological protection. Doms biologically were upset by the presence of a sub in drop, instinctually driven to protect a sub in danger. 

Doms were the inverse, abrasive, strong, stubborn and needed to lead. They were logical, physically commanding and possessive. Sometimes a bit brash, sometimes a bit overbearing. Often violent. 

Yin and Yang. Sun and Moon. Leader and follower. 

The proccess of taking on a sub was often more akin to adoption or courtship than dating, and rightfully so. Subs would be eaten alive without such safegaurds. A sub would get their assignment, or in some case a match arranged by their family Dom, in their late teens, and would be the legal property of their Dom, unless the Dom chose to reject. 

Subs couldn't reject a Dom, but the state intervened in cases of abuse or neglect. Not as often as they should.

Often subs didn't know what they needed, they needed to be told such things. 

You can imagine how often this need was abused. 

Oliver was sitting prettily in the dining room, hands folded in his lap, silently observing the large landscape that loomed over the dining table. 

"Here you are, love," Greg smiled, placing a plate of beans, eggs, toast and mushrooms in front of the entranced sub. Oliver blinked and looked down and peeked a curious look over to the silver-haired policeman.

"Mycroft said you don't like meat. Don't ask me how he knew."

Oliver smiled to himself, sort of embarrassed. 

"Does he do that a lot?"

"Oh, all the time. He's a proper genius, his brother too."

Oliver nodded absently, feeling awkward and nervous in the company of the strong, golden warm man. He was...so handsome...with big strong hands and chocolate eyes and oh God his smile...Oliver realized that he was staring, Greg watching him a pristine white grin. He blushed and looked back at the painting. A swirling impressionist take on the english country side, with a fox hunt in the foreground. 

"Pretty picture, huh?"

"Oh, it's fascinating sir, do you know when it was painted?"

"No, but Mycroft would. He knows everything about the house and history and things like that."

"It's pretty massive, sir" Oliver gushed, poking at a stray mushroom with his fork, his stomach churning and empty. He didn't want to be rude, he wasn't sure if he was allowed eat yet. It was all so much. So much stuff, so many new things. "Massive in a good way, though, sir."

There was a silence, just the grandfather clock ticking in the background.

"Here, darling," Greg leant forward, building a bite of Oliver's food on his own fork, cupping it to keep from spilling. Oliver blinked and blushed, opening his mouth when Greg indicated, slipping his lips around the warm delicious food. 

"You like it?"

"Mmmmmm," He sighed, involuntarily, earning a pleased chuckle from Greg.

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"Yes, sir, it's fantastic!"

Greg fed him the rest of his plate, wondering where Mycroft might be, but enjoying some one-on-one time. Just the thought of what Oliver must think of him and his job after what Sally had done. 

"I wonder where Mycroft's gone off to," He said absently, holding a bite up in the air. Oliver closed his mouth and looked over towards the door. 

As if summoned, the posh man strode in, holding a stack of papers. He set them on the large oak table. Greg beamed, nervously wiping his mouth with his napkin and sipping his coffee. When he stood and began to clear the plates, Oliver jumped up.

"I can do that, sir!" He cheered.

"No, Oliver. Sit down." Mycroft said sternly, and the sub immediately fell back onto his seat, guilt in his stomach. He only wanted to help. He looked down ashamedly in his lap. 

Greg pressed a kiss to his forehead, by his hair. 

"Let me take care of it, baby," He whispered gently, giving Mycroft a look. Myc wasn't always good at using the right tone with the right order.

Once Greg returned, they all sat, Mycroft across from Oliver, and Greg on the end between them. Oliver swallowed thickly, not liking their serious faces. So this was the talk. Greg gave him a sympathetic look and reach to stroke his trembling hand.

"Now, Ollie, please, don't be stressed. This isn't going to be all iron fist, okay? We're just going to have a chat about what your life will be like with us, and we only want the best for you."

"Yes, sir,"

"We'll get started with the rules, like pulling off a bandage, okay?"

"Yes, sir,"

Mycroft nodded, and Greg gave Ollie's hand an encouraging squeeze.

"Rule number one. No lying, in any circumstance. You may have privacy when you wish, but you will not keep secrets." Mycroft said cooly.

"Not being open and honest with us will earn you automatic punishment, Ollie, this a big one."

Oliver nodded, throat dry. He didn't want to be punished! His mind slipped to the time he'd seen that woman in the street, with the sign around her neck, and the scary man whipping her back. Greg and Mycroft shared a concerned look. 

"Ollie, we don't like punishments either, but when they are necissary we will give them. Not to humiliate, or to hurt you, but to help you. And you will always be allowed to colour out."

"Yes sir,"

"Rule number 2. You will obey any and all direct commands. You may be asked twice, but a third ask will warrant punishment. Further failure to obey will mean further consequences."

Oliver nodded, not trusting his voice to stay steady at the thought of further consequences. 

"Rule number three. We expect that you will complete your A-levels, and if you would like, you may attend university. We weren't anticipating receiving you so young, but your schoolwork will not suffer under this roof."

Oliver was speechless, and Mycroft's eyes softened, watching the boys eyes blur with thick tears. He hung his head and dug his teeth into his bottom lip. 

"'m not in school- I dropped out-" Oliver whispered, his voice dripping with shame. 

"Hey, hey, that's alright, baby, we know. Nothing wrong with it. We know you were put in a difficult situation, alright? But you're brilliant, love, what good is it putting that to waste?" Greg reassured, and Mycroft nodded in agreement. 

"I wouldn't say brilliant, sir," Oliver blushed, tucking a lose bit of hair out of his eyes.

"Oh come now, don't be so hard on yourself,"

"Rule number 4. No alcohol, no drugs, no harming yourself in any way. Your mind is your own, sweetheart, but your body belongs to us, and you will take care of it. That means 3 full meals a day. Your bedtime is 11 on weeknights, 12 on weekends."

Oliver nodded. He didn't think it would be hard to eat around here, Greg really was a great chef. 

"Rule number 5. When we are in public, you will speak when spoken to, and you will be respectful to us and to other Doms. This is of course over ridden if you are in danger, in which case you may fight back, and you may always cry out for help, okay?"

Oliver nodded with a small, tight smile, eyes glued to where Greg was holding his hand in both of his, thumb brushing softly across his knuckles. 

"Those are them, okay baby? We'll have them written and we can put them up somewhere important, and these are always open for discussion." Greg smiled. 

"Those don't seem too bad, sir," Oliver said meekly, looking shyly up at Mycroft, who genuinely blushed. Oliver thought he was the most striking Dom on the planet, so sharp and handsome and he was getting distracted again...

"Right. This is just a small test alright, like the one you took when you registered. Likes and dislikes, hard and soft limits, alright?"

"Alright."

"And you needn't agree to anything you don't want, just because you're afraid we will disapprove," Mycroft added. "Your honesty is far more important to us,"

Greg placed the small stack of paper in front of him, handing him a pencil. 

"Take all the time you need, love, we can enjoy our coffee while you fill it out," Greg pat his hand kindly and Ollie nodded, nibbling on the eraser stub mindlessly as he read over the questionare. 


	8. loved

"Sir?" The freckled boy looked up, cheeks blaring with heat, "I mean, Mycroft?"

"Yes, Oliver?" 

Greg looked up from his phone, the two Doms sharing a look. Oliver swallowed thickly before itching the back of his neck. Oliver looked over the list of acts, some for punishment, some definitely not punishment, at least to Oliver.

"I- these, are rather- um-"

Greg held back a chuckle at how bashful the sweet boy looked. 

"..sexual?" Oliver squeaked. 

"Is that something you're not comfy with, baby?" Greg offered, and Mycroft's eyes were rapt on the boy's answer. Oliver fluttered his eyelashes, rubbing his ankles together beneath the table. 

"I- I'm not sure-"

"That's alright, you're young, Oliver, there's no pressure to do anything you're not sure you want to do,"

"No. No, it's not that I don't-" Oliver swallowed, "not that I don't want...that...with you..."

Mycroft smirked, eyebrows raising. Oliver obviously found them both attractive, if those cavernous pupils were anything to be going on. 

"What is it then, darling?" Greg questioned, clicking his phone closed and setting it down. 

"I- it's only- I'm not very- I've never-" He itched harder at his scalp, nibbling on his lip and letting that hang in the air. "I don't think I'd be very good at all that."

Greg's lips turned into a quirked smile, shooting a glance Mycroft's way. 

"That's what we're here for baby," Greg soothed, "Mycroft and I know what we're doing, we'll make sure you're well taken care of,"

Oliver licked his lips, and Mycroft's eyes glowed completely ravenous. 

"But we will take things slowly, Oliver. And it will happen only when we both believe you're ready and you consent, understood?"

Oliver nodded , looking adorably disappointed. Greg grinned like an idiot at that. _God, could the boy be any more perfect for them?_

"Can I- at least- last night was so nice, sirs, may I sleep in your room again?"

"Any time you'd like, darling," Mycroft said and Greg nodded in agreement. 

Oliver nodded and looked back at his fill-out sheet. He ticked a few greens, mostly yellows, and only a couple reds. A few others had question marks.

"All finished?" Greg said as he sipped the last of his coffee. 

"Yes, sir," Oliver set his pencil down.

The Doms swiped the paper across the table to read. Oliver felt a bit embarrassed at how casual they were, his own eyes averted from the embarrassing list. 

"You've marked isolation as a question mark, darling, what was confusing there?" Mycroft said with a slight scowl. Seemed rather a straight-forward punishment.

"I wasn't sure..if you'd make me go somewhere horrible when it happened... chain me outisde or something..."

" _Oliver_." Mycroft scolded, "such a punishment would be reckless endangerment. We would never leave you unsupervised, but you'd spend an aloted time with the door locked to the isolation room, which Greg and I would monitor. It's not very comfortable, but it's not horrible. It's more for calming you down, giving you time to think and reminding you of your place. It was one we used often with our last submissive, but all submissives have different needs."

"What happened to your last submissive?" Oliver asked with wide, concerned eyes. Subs were placed for life! Had the last one _died?_ Greg immediately cut in.

"Sherlock is Mycroft's brother, and was a special case. He wasn't assigned as a teenager, so he stayed in his family's care- namely Mycroft and I. But Sherlock was collared to his own Dom last month. You'll meet them both soon, I'm sure."

"Oh, that's good to know," Oliver sighed with a relieved smile. That explained why they were a bit older. Feeling a bit brave, Oliver said, "I've only ever been spanked as a punishment before, by my teacher."

"Did you enjoy it?" Mycroft titled his head with curiosity, happy to see Oliver so open about his past expiriences.

"Oh gosh no! It bloody hurt!" 

Greg burst out a laugh at the twisted expression on Oliver's face. Clearly a strong memory, then. 

"But...perhaps if it wasn't with the paddle, I might. I'm not sure at all," Oliver admitted with wide eyes. 

"Alright, perhaps we can try that sometime," Greg murmered. "Would you like to come sit on my lap, Oliver?" Greg offered, seeing how tiny the boy looked, curled in on himself. Oliver nodded, quickly pushing his chair out, standing, politely tucking the chair back, and rushing to the other side. Greg pulled him easily up onto his lap, holding onto his hip with a strong, gentle hand. 

"How about we call this conversation good for now, alright sweetheart? Unless there's anything else you want to ask us?" Mycroft smiled, watching Oliver gently rest his head on Greg's shoulder. 

"There isn't really anything, it's only- thank you very much, for keeping me that is," He said softly, a bit sad, "you've been so good to me, I don't deserve you at all," He whimpered, tucking his nose into Greg's scruffy neck, chest heaving a grateful sob. 

"Hey. No need to hide, darling," Greg's chest rumbled deeply through Oliver, the trembling boy shyly turning to face his Doms. 

"You deserve every happiness, Oliver, know that. Me and Gregory love you very much, and we will do our best to look after you." 

"You love me?" He choked. 

"Of course we do," Gregory said firmly, "how could we not love such a sweet boy?"

Oliver's tears were full force now. Mycroft frowned, perturbed to see him this distraught. He stood and came closer, crouching down to wipe his tears and rub his back as Greg whispered sweet nothings in his ear. He'd wrapped his arms around Greg so tight, as if he thought he might vanish.

"We're here, Ollie, we're not going anywhere."

Oliver wept, unsure why he was crying so hard. He'd been so alone, for so long, since mum died. He'd been trying so hard to be okay, to survive, but he wasn't okay. He needed Mycroft and Greg so badly. 

"We had your collaring scheduled for a few weeks from now, but we can do it sooner if you need that, love? Would that help? to know that you belong to us?"

Oliver nodded quickly, his hair tickling at Greg's neck.

"Please, sir,"

"..having our names on your tag, so everybody can see who owns you, and you won't ever get lost, you'll always know how to come back."

Oliver sobbed brokenly, and Mycroft now found himself wrapped entirely around him, the Doms forming a cacoon of protection around their sub. Oliver's sobs began to sniffle into hiccups, his eyelashes sticky and wet as he laughed to himself, emotions all over the place. 

"Sorry to be so emotional, sirs,"

"That's perfectly alright, pet," Mycroft smiled. "It's natural and healthy,"

Greg gave his husband a sideways glance, wondering if Mycroft only applied this logic to submissive, going by the amount of effort it took for him to be open about such sentiments in his own life. But he didn't have time to ask before the doorbell rang. 

Mycroft sighed, pressing a kiss to Oliver's cheek and standing to go get the door. He'd sent the staff home for the weekend, not wanting to overwhelm Oliver. 

He looked through the peephole and sighed, undoing the bolt and pulling open the door. 

"Where's Lestrade?" His brother said, pushing his way in. 

"Hello to you too, brother dear,"

"Manners, Sherlock!" John scolded, coming in as well, "Sorry about this Mycroft. He's in one of his moods, today."

"I need a case, and Lestrade isn't answering my texts."

"Gregory and I are taking the weekend off, brother dear, you'll do better to ask on Monday."

" _Monday?"_ the pale submssive whined, "What is it? You needed a kinky sex holiday?"

"Sherlock! I will spank you right here in your brother's foyer if you keep this up, _honestly_. Sorry, Mycroft. We won't push in, thank you for telling us."

The detective paused, even as Mycroft stood to block the rest of the house, sniffing loudly through his nose. His eyebrows went up to the ceiling and his mouth turned into a frown. 

"There's someone else here, not a memeber of staff, there are no cars in the drive. And since when have you ever taken a weekend off?" Mycroft groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, the pieces putting themselves together behind Sherlock's eyes.

" _Goodbye_ , brother dear,"

"Oh you're not serious!" Sherlock gasped, face fuming red. 

"What're you talking about, Sherlock?" John grimaced, not liking where this was going. 

"Oh that's- that's- you-" Sherlock stuttered for the appropriate words, feeling faint, finally settling on, "Why?!" 

"It's none of your business, Sherlock, now please, run along?"

"Sorry what?" John scowled, looking between the two, clearly missing something. "What's happened?" 

Mycroft sighed, sucking in a deep breath.

"It is, again, none of your business, but Gregory and I have been assigned a submissive."

John's eyes went wide before his lips quirked into a smile. 

"Congratulations! Wow, you must be so happy, mate, cheers!" 

"Thank you, Dr. Watson."

"This is typical. Typical! Be sure to wash down any toys before you reuse them!" Sherlock spat, pushing past his brother in a huff, determined to tell this little userper off. He'd been gone what? A month? Two? "Where is he?!"

"William Sherlock Scott! You get back here this isntant!" John shouted, but Sherlock refused. Mycroft snarled at the invasion, grabbing his brother by the collar and tugged him harshly away. He didn't like to use his physical advantage in an argument, but he wasn't afraid to. 

"Let me go!" Sherlock growled.

"No. Sherlock. You will not be allowed near Oliver until you are calm, and are kind. He's a member of your family now, and you will have care and respect for him. Until then, get out of this house. Dr. Watson is your Dom now, so I shall let him handle this outburst, but I am very much less than impressed, Sherlock."

Sherlock grit his teeth, sending his brother a glare and squirming in his firm grip.

"Alright alright! Let go!" Mycroft did, and John seized and grabbed Sherlock by the back of his neck, pushing him back to the door.

"Ow!!"

"No, Sherlock. We'll discuss this at home. A thousand apologies Mycroft, tell us if you guys need anything. Congrats, again, by the way."

"We should be alright. Why don't you come back around Sunday night? We can introduce you properly that way, it'll be good to introduce Oliver to new people."

"Oh for sure! Text me the details, and we will be there."

Sherlock huffed in disagreement. 

"He means thank you. We can't wait to meet...Oliver? yes, Oliver. We'll be by Sunday. Cheers, Mycroft."

The Dom only exchanged a nod, shutting the door behind them with a groan. 


	9. cabbage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know this is filler, you know this is filler, but we can all appreciate some fluff while i write a big important chapter tee hee ;)

Greg frowned, hearing some shouting coming from the foyer, Oliver's ears perking up as well. 

"Why don't we go get you dressed, yeah? I'll come and show you around," Greg gracefully transitioned them upstairs, not wanting to cause a stir. Oliver had looked nervously back to where strangers were speaking in harsh voices before quickly skittering to catch up. 

"Mycroft has a very particular style," Gregory sighed as he opened Oliver's closet, "sorry if it's all a bit serious," He flipped through the pressed button downs and blazers, eyeing the boy standing behind him, poking up on his tip toes to look over his shoulder. 

"I can just wear my old clothes," Oliver chewed on his bottom lip. 

"It's well into autumn, love," Greg chided, pinching the thin fabric of the hung up sweatshirt and tee. "Why don't you pick something out a bit warmer for now, and I'll take you shopping for some real stuff."

"Sounds nice, sir,"

"Right. Here, this isn't half bad," Greg pulled a thick blue jumper off the rack and set it on the bed. Oliver blinked and quickly pulled off the nice borrow t-shirt, folding it gently so he wouldn't damage it.

Greg couldn't help but throw an appreciative glance towards Oliver's glowing brown shoulders and collarbone that formed a sharp divuet on his bare chest. The Dom's eyes lingered on his dark, pert nipples. 

Oliver tugged the jumper over his head, pulling down the pyjamas, folding them up as well, before putting on his own washed and ironed pair of denims. 

He saw a pair of nice white socks in the drawer, and put those on as well, before spotting his own trainers tucked by the foot of the bed and toeing those on as well.

"You look dashing, Oliver," Greg teased, and Oliver blushed, itching at the back of his neck. The Dom let out a laugh and pulled Oliver close by his shoulders, leading him back into the corridor. 

Oliver spent most of the day exploring. The house was so large, he thought he might get lost, but Greg reassured him that if he did get lost, just to ring one of the antique service bells, and they'd come and rescue him. Oliver had scampered off, a bit nervous on his own, but happy for the time alone if he was honest. 

He was a bit of an introvert, and he knew that he'd never have the time to appreciate all of it if he was around other people. All his observatory skills sort of shut off when he got too nervous, which he hated about himself. 

He discovered four other bedrooms besides the master, at least five more bathrooms, a billiards room, a drawing room, a smoking room, a movie theatre, the kitchen, the sitting room, the back hallway, the gardens (which he decided to explore another day), stables in the distance, a patio, and an enclosed sunroom that Oliver thought might be his favourite room in the house. It was gorgoues, with glass walls and a glass ceiling, teeming with tropical plants. 

Well, second-favourite, after he found the library. It had massive vaulted ceilings, with bookcases so high they needed ladders, with coloured light from the stained glass window casting beautiful designs on the floor. There was a painting on the far wall, an old-fashioned portrait of Dom and sub pairing, a beautiful woman Dom with blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, and a sweet looking man at her feet. He was shocked to find Mycroft sitting in one of the large leather armchairs, working on a laptop. 

"Oh Oliver! I'm just finishing a few things, did you need something?" The Dom smiled, his skin lit by the large flickering fireplace.

"Oh, no sir, I was just exploring, I'm sorry to interrupt you,"

"Nonsense. I'm happily interrupted. If I'm not in my study, you may feel free to do so."

"Which room's the study, sir? there are so many..."

"My study is always locked, Oliver. You aren't allowed in there." Mycroft realized he was being stern again. "But it's only because I deal with highly classified information, darling."

Oliver paused, finger tracing the titles of the spines. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask about Sir's job. He gasped, pulling down _History of The British Isles 1156-1400._

"May I- read this sir?" 

"Come, Oliver," Mycroft said kindly, and the shorter boy nodded, quickly shuffling closer. He sank to his knees, thick book on his lap, eyes wide and eyelashes fluttering.

"Good boy," Mycroft purred, hand resting on the nape of Oliver's neck. Oliver sighed contently, head down and a shiver down his spine. Mycroft brushed his thumb across the sensitive spot, and Oliver's limbs froze, his pupils blown and his skin glowing. 

"Mm, thank you sir," Oliver murmured, leaning his body against Mycroft's trouser leg, the warmth of the fire on his cheek. The Dom hmmed, going back to his work. Oliver wiggled his bum on his heels, cracking open the thick dusty volume. 

Hours ticked by, the mantle clock chirping three times before Mycroft finally closed the lid of the computer, setting it on the side table. Oliver barely noticed, so engrossed in his reading. Mycroft chuckled, happily petting the boy's neck, happy to see him so comfortable. 

"Oliver?" Mycroft sing-songed, and the boy snapped his head up, blushing when he realized the older man had finished. 

"Oh, sorry, sir," He snapped the book closed, holding it to his chest. "May I take this in my room to read later?"

"Of course, love, as long as you put it back when you're finished."

"Thanks," Oliver smiled, leaning his cheek happily on Mycroft's knee. He looked over at the umbrella leaning against the armchair. "Why do you have that umbrella sir?"

"Now _that_ is top secret," The Dom chided, poking the sub a bit with his toe.

Oliver giggled, dropping the brolly subject and idly drawing a line down the pinstripe of Mycroft's trousers.

"I like that painting, sir, do you know who it's of?" 

"Oh, that? Those are my parents." Mycroft contently twirled a coiled black curl in his finger, looking over his submissive with wonder. Oliver bit his lip, looking between the painting and the Dom, nodding with a giggle. 

"I definitely see it, sir." 

"Ugly genes, huh?" Mycroft teased.

" _Oh no_ sir!" Oliver gasped, looking horrified, "Never, sir. You're perfectly handsome,"

"You think?" Mycroft quirked a smile, enjoying the compliment, even if it was just flattery.

"Oh sir," Oliver blushed, "I- your _eyes_ sir, and your hair, and your smell, you smell so _nice_..."

Mycroft suddenly felt rather softened by the glowing admirer at his feet. 

"Can I...that is, may I... kiss you?" Oliver whispered, hands folded across his Master's knee. Mycroft turned to look the boy in the eyes, and Oliver shuddered, blinking and letting out a little breath. 

The Dom smiled dangerously, grasping him by the sides of his face, pulling him up until they met between them. He pressed their lips together, firm and ravenous, fingers twisting through Oliver's halo of thick hair. Oliver squeaked, lips parted in surprise, before melting, hands reaching to grab onto Mycroft's neck. The Dom growled, grasping Oliver's thin writst in his hands, holding them as he trailed kisses across his chin. 

"You're a good boy, Oliver," Mycroft whispered, "You're _my_ boy. My pet. Mon petit chou,"

"I'm a _Cabbage_?" Oliver giggled, smiling as hot warm kisses littered his cheeks and nose.

"You've missed the important bit, my love, you're _my_ little cabbage, Oliver,"

"I don't much fancy cabbage, sir," Oliver protested, and Mycroft could only laugh, wholly and deeply. 

"Come here," Mycroft opened his arms, and Oliver squealed, clambering into his lap, tucking his nose into the warmth of the Dom's neck. Mycroft held him tight, laying a firm hand across the nape of his neck.

"Are you settling in alright, Oliver?"

"I think so..." Oliver sighed, "I'm not sure what to do sometimes. You and Greg are so good and forgiving of me, I feel...that I haven't earned it yet."

Mycroft hmmed thoughtfully, rubbing a circle on Oliver's back. 

"It's alright to be unsure, pet. You could be the worst submissive in the world, and Greg and I would never not love you," 

Oliver sighed, rubbing his chin across the soft silk of Mycroft's waistcoat. He blinked, reached up and pressed a soft gentle kiss to Mycroft's cheek. 


	10. brother-in-law (pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is very mean this chapter, but he has reason to be upset. And in the grand tradition of Holmes's cannot express those emotions in a helpful way.

Sunday night came quickly, their little holiday soon to be at an end, and Greg was watching Oliver from their room, on his phone idly.

The sub nervously flit through the closet, so unsure as to what to wear. He wanted Mycroft's brother to like him, to approve of him. He'd never really had a friend, before, maybe Sherlock would like to be his friend? He knew loads about how to be a good sub, Oliver thought, he'd be perfect to ask questions to! 

"Do you think he'll like me?" Oliver asked as he pulled on a button down white shirt, fumbling with the buttons. He was trembling like a leaf.

"Who, Ollie?"

"Sherlock. Do you think he'll like me?"

"Sherlock can be off putting at first..." Greg itched the back of his neck, and Oliver nibbled his lip, "but he'll love you for sure, darling, how could he not?"

"I dunno," Oliver sighed, still struggling with the shirt. He knew he didn't belong in such posh clothes."This is just important. He's Mycroft's _family_. If he hates me..."

"You're Mycroft's family too, love," Greg said kindly. Oliver nodded mutely, still perturbed. "Come now, don't fret about it," 

Oliver tugged at his hair, slumping and sitting on his bed. He'd knew how _he'd_ feel if his Doms got a new sub, especially Doms as perfect and handsome as Greg and Mycroft. 

"Babes, oh, hun, come here." Greg gestured with his hand. Oliver ran quickly, curling into his side and breathing deep and shallow, sucking in gulps of Lestrade's heady aftershave.

"Shh, that's alright, you're a good boy, Oliver. You'll do great." The Dominant untangled the boy's fingers out of his curls. "None of that, now, you know the rules."

The Dom quickly finished Oliver's buttons, keeping a firm eye in him. The sub shuddered at the close attention.

"Now, I want you to be on your public behavior, remember? That means yes, sir, no sir, thank you, sir. To me, Myc and Dr. Watson, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Oliver nodded, sagging a bit in relief as the Dom rubbed across his shoulders in a soothing gesture. Greg sighed and kissed his forehead. 

"Relax, Oliver, it's just dinner,"

"I know, sir, I'm sorry," 

"Lasagne sound alright?"

"That sounds lovely, sir," Oliver smiled, but Greg could see it wasn't real. Hazel eyes twitched this way and that, fingers fumbling behind his back, and the Dom could only hold him tighter and pray to God this went alright. 

* * *

"Now, Sherlock, you will be the picture of nice to this kid, understood?" John growled, the London streets passing by as the taxi drove on. His sub pouted, nose tucked towards the window, coat drawn up and hiding his collar. 

"Don't see why," Sherlock scowled.

"Don't see why?" John glared, exasperated already. "Because I'll tan your hide if you don't, that's a good reason why."

There was a tense silence, the brooding sub only rolling his eyes. 

"None of this is his fault, Sherlock." 

Sherlock only mumbled something sassy.

"What was that boy?" John tugged him by the hair and Sherlock hissed.

"nothing! Let go!" Sherlock growled. John did not release his grip.

"I swear to God, Sherlock. You will not enjoy the consequences if you disobey me. So buck up and be nice or I'll make that caning you got last week look like a love tap."

The sub tensed up at that, still brooding, and turned to look out the window angrily. 

* * *

Oliver was quiet. Very quiet. Mycroft gave a questioning look to Greg, who could only shrug. Sitting on the sofa, hands folded in his lap, quiet as a churchmouse, the sub looked like a statue. Mycroft didn't like this. Neither did Greg.

"Myc?" Greg called from the kitchen, "Can I speak with you?"

Mycroft uneasily left his post watching the sub and joined him in the kitchen, eyeing the salad venomously. 

"I'm not sure this was a good idea. He's so worked up about it, I'm really concerned,"

"Nonsense. It'll be fine. Oliver's a picture of model behavior."

"It's not Oliver I'm worried about..."

Greg was interupted by the doorbell ringing. 

Oliver jumped off the sofa, racing to the foyer. He paused, was he allowed to answer the door? He didn't want to be naughty..but he didn't want to be rude. He opened the door. 

The most beautiful sub he had ever seen looked back at him, standing behind a stocky silver-blonde Dom. His cheekbones were sharper than razor blades, eyes dark and brooding, lips full and pink, skin pale as moonlight, contrasting vividly with a black leather collar. Oliver's mouth hung open a bit in shock.

"You must be Oliver. I'm John Watson," The Dom smiled, extending a hand. Oliver blinked, unsure, but shakily accepted it, gripping his hand lightly and shaking it. But Oliver couldn't pull his eyes away from the mysterious sub that loomed over him. He had to be at least 6 feet tall! 

"Good to meet you, sir, um- you can come in," 

" _Oliver_!" The boy froze, turning like a deer in headlights to see a very annoyed Mycroft, "Did I say you could get the door?" 

"No sir!" Oliver squeaked, stomach dropping. Mycroft only sighed and gave Dr Watson an appreciative glance. 

"Sorry, do come in," Mycroft said kindly, gripping Oliver by the shoulder tightly, holding him in place. The sub shuddered and hung his head slightly. John and Sherlock seemed to know where they were going, and Oliver thought he must've imaged the grin on the older sub's face as they passed. 

"I'm so sorry, sir," Oliver whispered. 

"Don't do it again." Was all the Dom said in return, and the boy wanted to break out in tears. Off to a great start it would seem. Oliver followed on his heels as they returned to the sitting room, where Greg and John were already speaking. Sherlock looked bitterly into his drink. Oliver wondered if Mr. Watson let Sherlock have alcohol because he was older. Not that Oliver had ever felt the need to try it..he didn't like the smell at all. He didn't even want to think about how it must taste.

"Come sit, darling," Greg called, and Oliver blinked, suddenly realizing he was the only one standing. He quickly scurried over, sitting close to Gregory on the sofa, across from John and Sherlock on the other, with Mycroft in the armchair to the side of Gregory. He felt all eyes on him and he ducked his head, he really didn't like all the attention.

"So, are you in school, Oliver?" Mr. Watson said kindly, breaking the silence. 

"Of course he isn't," Sherlock said coldly, his voice deep and low and Oliver wanted to die. He wanted to disappear off the face of the planet. Right now. 

"Hush, Sherlock," John scolded, pinching his thigh. "Oliver can answer for himself."

"No, I-I'm not in school, sir."

"But he will be, soon. Oliver got perfect scores on his GCSEs," Mycroft added as he leaned down to press a cold glass of sparkling water into Oliver's hand. Oliver felt both embarrassed and proud to have his Dom bragging about him, shakily sipping the beverage. 

"Surprised he's old enough to have taken them," Sherlock mumbled, knocking back his whiskey. "Heard about your little tableau at the Yard. Happy to know I'm not the only sub you've had arrested, Lestrade."

"Sherlock! That's _enough_ ," Greg warned, pointing dangerously at his former sub. Oliver looked ghostly pale, looking at his knees. Greg didn't have him arrested, did he? He didn't. Of course he didn't. Oliver was starting to doubt what happened, starting to wonder if he was remembering it wrong. 

"Fine." Sherlock growled. Oliver didn't come up much after that, Sherlock and Lestrade spoke about police work, Dr. Watson about his job at a clinic, mycroft looked like he was in agony. Oliver listened politely, stomach upset and not just because of the carbonation. Sherlock was probably the smartest, coolest, most good looking sub he'd ever seen. God, what a let down it must've been to go from having _that_ to him. He was a detective, and a chemist, and a violinist, and and and and and! What was Oliver? Nothing!

"What makes you think it was the Uncle?!" Greg shouted.

"Oh please, this is childs play, even for you. Obviously it was the Uncle because of the shoelaces. Now I'm going to use the loo." Sherlock stood, long lithe legs propelling him quickly into the corridor before anyone could stop him, hand knocking against Oliver's glass as he went, the poor sub barely catching it in time before any liquid came out. 

John only shook his head and rubbed his temple. Oliver knew they were all upset because of him, knew he didn't belong here. He felt out of place, knew he stood out from the group. Not just because of his skin, but the fact he was twenty years younger than Sherlock, who was obviously much younger than Mycroft and Greg. He drank the rest of his soda water like he was drowning of thirst. He rolled his tongue around his mouth, confused by the bitter aftertaste. 

"We can move into the dining room now, if you'd like," Greg smiled and John nodded. 

"'Course. Smells amazing already." 

Greg chuckled and they chatted. Mycroft lurked, and Oliver followed, eyes brimming with tears. He kept looking down the corridor to the staircase worriedly. He didn't want to cry in front of everyone. He tugged on Mycroft's jacket, earning himself a harsh look.

"Sir, may I wash my hands, sir?" 

"Sure. But _be quick_ ," The exhuasted Dom shooed him off and Oliver ran. "No running in the house, Oliver!" He called after him, and the sub slowed immediately, feeling like a child. A scolded child. He turned quickly in the hall and pushed into the first bathroom he could see, already in tears. He was not expecting to see 8 miles high of posh sub in a suit hanging out in here, on his phone, leaning on the sink.

"Oi! What the-?"

"oh my God, I'm sorry, so sorry, sir- or not sir- I - I'm sorry!" Oliver squeaked, trying to get out of this, turning to run. 

"No. Come here. I need to speak with you."

Oliver swallowed thickly and obeyed, joining him in the bathroom, flinching when the graceful man leaned over and clicked the lock. 

"I know all about this game, Oliver, playing the good boy so they'll like you. But just know, it's pathetic on the best of days, annoying the rest of the time."

"I don't know what you mean," Oliver blinked, eyes puffy and red, sniffling. 

"Don't you? I can read you, Oliver, and I know all about you. I know you haven't got a dime to your name or an ounce of class in your body. You're street trash, and you always will be. When your mother was dying of cancer, why was it she didn't get treatment? Why was that?" Sherlock loomed over him, hands tucked behind his back, looking so incredibly terrifying. 

"Stop it!"

"Was it because her clients liked to pull her hair when she serviced them? Would be a shame to lose that all to chemo wouldn't you say?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Oliver whimpered, eyes gushing with hot tears.

"I think you do. I think you also know how much my brother and Lestrade _despise_ drug use."

"I've never done drugs!" Oliver shouted, bottom lip wobbling. 

"Right," Sherlock hmmmed with a wide smirk, and Oliver was so angry he wanted to burst. He twisted as Sherlock made to leave, face burning red.

"How dare you say those things about my mother!" He whisper-shouted, tracks of tears on his cheeks.

Sherlock only gave him one more condescending smile before his lips turned quickly back into a scowl as he turned the knob and left.


	11. brother-in-law (pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mycroft has a trigger and behaves very poorly

Oliver didn't know what to do once Sherlock had left. He stood there, frozen in front of the engraved glass mirror. He was buzzing with anger and upset and and- he didn't know what. He felt like he was about to do something, he didn't even know what, but his teeth were grit and his hands were balled up into fists. He stumbled forward, his feet heavy and his mind feeling brighter. He didn't feel so stressed, he felt sort of nice actually. Buzzy. Everything was buzzing. 

He blinked at the mirror, his vision scattered, his heart rate spiking in his chest. He suddenly realized what was happening. He'd been drugged. He'd been drugged and he was going to get into trouble. He couldn't control his heart rate anymore, he felt like he was being torn apart on the inside by it. 

There was a knock on the door. 

"Oliver? Y'alright in there?" Greg. It was Greg. Oliver wanted to vomit. He might actually vomit. 

"Fine! Just a minute," Oliver shook his head, trying to _focus._ Just needed to focus. He turned on the tap and washed his hands. He could do this. He'd just hide this, nobody would know, everything would be fine. 

"Oliver are you sure you're alright? I know Sherlock's been difficult, but you're doing great, kiddo,"

Oliver wanted to sob. He was certainly _not_ doing great. Not great at all! He was going to get kicked out! They were going to abandon him!

"Oliver, open the door."

The sub sucked in a breath, straightening his suit, even though his skin was burning underneath it. His hand shook as he pulled open the knob. He didn't look Greg in the eyes, simply ducking under his arm and racing to the dining room. 

"What took you so long?" Mycroft scowled as Oliver kept his eyes down, trying to see where he was supposed to sit. He bounced on his feet, his veins thrumming with energy. Greg came up behind him, and the two Doms shared worried looks. Oliver wasn't hyperactive like this. 

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, slinking down into his chair. John looked up from his plate and scowled. Sherlock only grinned to himself, munching on salad. 

Mycroft opened his mouth to scold Oliver's lack of an honorific, but Greg shook his head. Oliver was clearly under a lot of stress, he didn't need to pile on. 

"A lovely dinner, Gregory,"

"Oh hush I know you're teasing, you know those stereotypes about Doms and cooking didn't come out of nothin',"

Sherlock grimaced at the misogynistic implications, but John let out a laugh.

"Do you like cooking, Oliver?" John asked, sipping his wine, and all eyes turned to the quiet boy. 

Sherlock grinned, trying not to make his excitement obvious. 

"Never had a kitchen to cook in," The boy mumbled, pushing a forkful of lasagne around his plate. Mycroft was outright seething at this behavior. 

"Ah. Well, Greg could probably teach you."

Oliver didn't reply, his leg jiggling under the table. Greg's silverware clattered as he set them on his plate, standing and pointing at his submissive.

"Oliver, come with me, we need to have a chat," Greg stood, setting his napkin down. "Excuse us for a minute."

Oliver didn't move, crossing his arms and huffing. 

"Oliver, come here please,"

Sherlock bit his lip in a smile as the younger sub could only look helplessly to him, because he knew he was going to get it. 

"Oliver, go in the kitchen. _Now_." 

The sub pushed his chair out, losing his balance because he pushed too hard, the whole thing flipping over backwards. He shrieked and landed on his side, convulsing. 

"Oliver!" Mycroft shouted, jumping to his feet, chaos ensuing. Sherlock could only grin. 

"Get off Get off Get off!!!" Oliver cried as Greg knelt down to grab him. 

"What the hell-?" Greg growled, reaching around and pinching the back of his nape, holding Oliver down on the ground. Oliver froze, limbs twitching. "Jesus Christ, did you take something?"

"No!!" He cried, writhing backwards again, and Lestrade was suddenly rather calm. 

"Tell us what you've taken!" Mycroft roared, looming over the boy on the floor. Oliver squirmed, wrestling with all his strength to escape Lestrade's grip. The Dom easily held him. 

"Sherlock why the hell are you smiling?" John seethed, knelt next to Greg to try and help diagnose the situation. 

"I'm not smiling," Sherlock whispered, and he really wasn't. This wasn't- the poor kid was far too small for the dose he had slipped in his drink. He hadn't expected him to react so harshly, and his skin was beginning to prickle with guilt. 

"Ollie, baby, you're not gonna be in trouble if you tell us what you've taken," Greg tried to calm him, but Oliver kept resisting.

"Oh like hell he isn't!" Mycroft shouted, all the memories of Sherlock's teenage years flooding back to him. 

"Rapid eye movement, fever, severely elevated pulse, irregular heartbeats," John said, holding Oliver's pupils open, pressing on his pulse point. 

"What's that mean?"

"Amphetamines," Mycroft said coldly.

"Not necissarily," John sighed, "Could be neurological, has this happened before?"

"There's nothing in his file," Greg worriedly held him in recovery position as he shook. 

"Please don't make me go, please don't! You can't!"

"Nobody's making you go anywhere, now tell us what you've taken!"

"Meth! He took meth, alright!" Sherlock cried out, slapping the table with a clatter. All eyes turned to him. 

"And how would you know that?" John glowered.

"Symptoms," Was all Sherlock could answer, and John growled, knowing there was something fishy going on. 

"Naxalone, we've got some in the kitchen," Mycroft cried, and ran to fetch it. John nodded, patting his cheek. 

"He's not gonna like this," John warned. 

"Not our first rodeo, mate," Greg said sadly, passing the doctor the reversal drug.

"M'fine, get off a'me!" Oliver whined.

"Hold him," John warned, drawing up the syringe. He looked for track marks on the boys arms and found none. Strange. 

The shot went in, and the boy screamed- the drug being stripped away from his pleasure centers in the brain. He groaned, sobbing into his arm, eyes fuzzy. 

"He should be fine, Greg, he'll be fine, just needs a safe comedown."

Greg breathed out in relief, but Mycroft only snarled. 

Mycroft tugged him the boy by his wrist, dragging him up kicking and fighting, the Dom's grip only tightening a firm mark on his dark skin. 

"Fetch me my umbrella, Sherlock," Mycroft ordered, and the older sub quickly obeyed, holding it out for his brother. Greg opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't with one look in his husband's eyes. They'd been through this before. Myc wasn't in a good state, just from the trauma. He shouldn't be punishing him right now, but Greg didn't say anything. 

Mycroft gripped the brolly and whipped the hard curved handle across Oliver's bum, _hard._

"You lied, Oliver. What did we tell you, we told you not. to. lie. I am immeasurably disappointed in you!" He emphasized each word with a stroke, and Sherlock could only watch in shock as Oliver screamed bloody horror. John was glaring daggers at Sherlock, and they made eye contact through the wailing and protests of the intoxicated submissive. 

"Mycroft! Mycroft stop this!" John shouted, not liking interrupting a Dom during punishment, but needing to intervene. "Sherlock what did you do?!" John pointed at the guilty looking man, something in his gut not right. "Somehow this is you, what did you do?"

"I- I-" Sherlock gasped, eyes wide at the sight of what he had done. Oliver was weeping, confused and in withdrawl and being beaten for something he didn't do. "I slipped it in his drink."

The mood of the room changed in an instant, the umbrella held in the air. John gaped in complete confusion at the admission. 

"You what?!" He said so low it vibrated in his chest, "Say that again, Sherlock."

"islippleditinhisdrink."

" _Sherlock_ -" Greg could barely choke out in shock. "Oh my God-"

Mycroft had stood up and was standing in the corner like he might throw up. 

John looked murderous. 

"Oliver, Oliver are you alright?" Greg murmured, pulling him close.

"Don't touch me! Please!" The sub wheezed, pushing the Dom away. "Don't touch me!"

Sherlock didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to handle this. He'd fucked up big. Major. Biggest fuck up in the history of all fuck ups. 

"Wanna be alone!" Oliver cried, "Leave me alone!" He stumbled away, pushing his way past them, clearly woozy and not himself. He ran up the stairs, dizzy and needing to re-calibrate a few times, before he finally located his room. He fell on the floor in a puddle, sobbing and rubbing his sore bum unashamedly. 

He blinked away a fresh round of tears, the thick drops racing down his cheeks when he slammed his door shut. There wasn't a lock, so he pulled the desk chair to jam under the handle. 

He cried, lonely and hurting, and dizzily hid in his closet. He never wanted to see any of them ever again! He sobbed and itched for someone to hold him. He shook his head, he knew he didn't deserve it. He knew he was trash. Worthless trash. 


	12. morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg, ever the peacekeeper, settles some things and takes care of his baby

Oliver doesn't remember much of what happened when he wakes, tucked into his own twin bed, in a set of pinstripe pyjamas he's never worn before. He tosses and turns. He's just woken up but he feels like he weighs two thousand pounds, he can barely move. There's something resting on his side, something warm and heavy. He rolls, blinking his eyes open.

"Hi baby," Greg is there, eyes warm and deep and his hand resting on the fluffy duvet above Oliver's hip, "How're ya feeling?"

"Hurts," Oliver whispers, not specific to any part of himself. He just- hurts. Everywhere. 

"It might hurt for a few more days, baby boy, you had quite the ordeal last night," 

Oliver whimpered, rubbing his face into the pillow. 

"Can you give me anything to make it go away?"

"No can do, kiddo," Greg sighed. 

"Please...I need it...it hurts so bad."

"It won't hurt much longer, baby, you're almost through the worst of it."

"I'm hungry," Oliver grumbled. 

"I've got you some crackers and orange squash,"

Oliver blinked one eye open and saw a tray of square crackers a glass of neon orange on his bedside table. He reached a hand out and took a handful, nibbling a few away quickly. 

"I've taken the rest of the week off, so I'll be on your beck and call while you get better,"

"Am I sick?"

Greg bit his lip, realizing Oliver's memory wasn't fully recovered yet. He only caressed his thin hand in his fingers, soothing the trembling boy. 

"You'll be alright, baby,"

Oliver sucked in a tight breath, his eyes round and huge in the dimmed lights. 

"My-croft" He gasped, eyes tearing up, kicking at his feet, "he-"

"Shhhh..." Greg whispered, brushing his hand across Oliver's forehead, "Mycroft loves you very much,"

"But I- last night- Sherl'ck said-"

"Sherlock's behavior was not okay, Oliver. Nothing he said was true."

"Mycroft hit me," Oliver whispered into his pillow. Greg bit his lip, unsure what to say. 

"He was confused, and he was wrong to hit you, Ollie. I was wrong to not stop him. And we are both very sorry."

"Where's he?"

"He had to go on a work trip, honey, but he'll be back in a few days," Greg soothed, caressing his soft cheek. The trip had only been slightly necessary. Greg still believed Myc had only left because he couldn't face what he'd done. Didn't think he deserved to ask Oliver's forgiveness yet. Maybe he didn't. "But I'm gonna be right here, all week long, and we can do whatever you'd like,"

"wanna sleep." Oliver mumbled groggily, crumbs all down his front from the crackers. 

"Sounds like a solid plan." Greg smiled gently, leaning up to kiss the boy's cheek and brushing his shirtfront clean. He stood, pulling the duvet up around Oliver's shoulders.

"Can you stay wif me?"

Greg's eyes softened, nodding. 

"Of course, I'll sit right here. I'll keep you safe," The Dom murmured, partially to assure the sub, partially to assure himself, "I'll keep you safe."

* * *

Greg clicked through his phone as Oliver slept. 

_Landed in Brussels. -M_

_Tell him I'm sorry. -M_

_Actually, do not mention me. Take care of him. If you need supplies, tell Anthea. She will take care of anything. -M_

**don't be too hard on yourself, baby -g**

**nobody is perfect. you'll apologize. you'll make it up to him. he'll forgive you. he loves you My. you're his Dom, that doesn't just stop bc of one mistake. -g**

_T_ _here is nothing that I can say to adequately apologize for wrongly my sub behaved last night, Greg -JW_

**he was jealous, it's nothing he's never done before. oliver will be alright. But we will be having a discussion about whether sherlock will be allowed near him. If oliver forgives him, I won't deny him that. we're family. I love that kid but sometimes...**

**how's the punishment going? -g**

_Well enough, I suppose. He's not running his mouth anymore, that's for sure. -JW_

_I know he was jealous, but I agree. Sherlock can't be allowed near Oliver until he feels safe. I just feel I should've kept him away, should've been a better Dom. -JW_

**sherlock was never going to be easy to control, john. never has been. you did what you could. i don't blame you. -g**

**i have a feeling this will all work out fine**

* * *

"Oliver," Greg whispered into the hell of the sleeping boy's ear, "Oliver, sweetheart, wake up,"

Oliver groaned, flopping over onto his stomach.

"Come on, up we get," Greg grasped him by his armpits and hefted him upwards, the boy whining a bit but complying, curling up onto Greg's chest, legs tucked across his knee. 

"Ah!" Oliver hissed, "my bum!" it bloody hurt! The sub both wanted to itch the affected area, but also never get near it again, it was stinging so sharply.

"Oh, yes, that. Would you like more aloe, love?"

The sleepy boy only hmmmed. 

"Right." Greg pat his back and set him back down, wandering into their ajoining bathroom to fetch the small canister of ointment. Oliver rubbed at his eyes, his hangover addled brain not too far gone to appreciate the sight of his Dom, in joggers and a tight motorcycle t-shirt, muscles flexing against the fabric. 

Once he returned, he sat on the bed and rolled Oliver on to his front, gently. He unbuttoned his pyjamas with warm callused fingers that Oliver could feel through the thin fabic, tugging the bottoms off, and Oliver realized with a blush he had no pants on. 

Greg could only hold back his bile. 

Mycroft had not lost his brute Dominant strength, even as he entered his late fifties. Oliver's tan, dark arse was striped with curved, black marks, a few which had split open and bled. 

Greg had wanted to sob when he'd seen them last night. 

He could only fake a smile and give Oliver's back a gentle pat.

"This might feel cold, baby, I'll try and warm it up first," He scooped a few fingers of the stingy goo onto his fingers and rubbed them together a moment before caressing across one of the welts. 

Oliver let out a little cry. Greg shushed him as he rubbed the ointment over each mark. He had just finished when he realized Oliver was weeping. 

"Oliver! Oliver, what's wrong?"

Greg worriedly shook the poor boy, but Oliver only tucked his face deeper into the pillow. 

"Ollie boy, tell me what's the matter," Greg said sternly, very very gently applying pressure to one of the welts.

"I hate myself," Oliver whispered plainly, too exhausted to try and word it any better. He did hate himself. He hated every bit.

" _Ollie_ ," Greg whispered, softly petting his hair. "You can't mean that,"

"I do! I hate my life! I hate that I ruin anything! I don't belong here and I never will. I'm not like you guys. I'm just- not."

"Oliver, what does that mean?"

"I'm poor okay? I'm poor and I'm black and I'm trash to you lot! You don't want me, you don't!"

"Where the hell is this coming from?" Greg's eyebrows were creased, his mouth hung open a bit in angry confusion. 

"I'm not trash. I'm not. My mum wasn't trash either. I just don't belong here, I don't want to be here anymore!" Oliver shouted, voice raw and cracking.

"Oliver Gabriel. You stop this. Right now." Greg ordered sternly. "I know this has been perhaps the rockiest start to a match in history, but you came into our lives for a reason, just like we came into yours. You belong here. You are certainly not trash. Me and Myc have been waiting for you for a long time, Olive. And you're better than we could ever have dreamed of. Now this isn't to say we haven't been shit Doms so far, which we have, but you need to cut this crap, right now. You belong to us, we've chosen you and we aren't going to get rid of you. You're ours for the long haul. Give it time to settle, baby."

Oliver only nodded, anger boiling in his tummy. He wished he were a Dom, not for the first time in his life. Wish he could do what he wanted, wished he didn't need them. Because he really did. He knew he wouldn't make it without them. He didn't trust himself to do anything, didn't trust himself to make choices. Because he just wasn't built for it. 

"I want to be tied up." He whispered. 

"What?"

"You said we could do whatever I wanted. I want you to tie me up. Please, sir," 

Greg gaped, rubbing at his hair in thought.

Oliver wanted to be tied up. Why? Mycroft would know. Mycroft wasn't here. Oh fuck all that deductions crap.

"Why?"

"I don't trust you. But I want to. Please, I don't know- I don't know why. I just know that I want this. I want to not be able to mess anything up,"

"Olive is this really-"

"Yes! Please, please, sir, please. I don't care how you do it, or where, just- please," The boy pleaded like he was begging for water in a desert. 

"Okay," Greg whispered, holding Oliver by his cheek. "Right. I'll be in the living room. Take a minute, think this over, and if you still want to, strip and come downstairs."


	13. comfort

Greg knows he should probably be more nervous than he is. Every thing, almost bloody everything, about Oliver's arrival to their home had gone wrong. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the antique trunk that looked like a quirky side table, but secretly held some of their gear.

He should be fretting about making sure this goes right, he should be more worried. 

But he isn't. 

This is what he's good at. This is what feels good. His Father taught him everything he knows about being a Dominant, about being a police officer. He was eleven when he learned all his knots. He was twelve when he saw his mum getting punished. He was fifteen when he learned why. He was eighteen when he'd given his first scene. 

This was in his blood. He knew how to do this. He rubbed the tops of his thighs as he texted Mycroft. 

_oliver has asked for his first scene. -g_

_you should be home for this. -g_

**I will be home in two days. The operation has been so far successful. -MH**

_you need to make this up to him before the ceremony. -g_

_which was supposed to be today. -g_

**I don't need a reminder. -MH**

_come home, My. I know we thought this was a good idea, but he needs you. I need you here. -g_

**You seriously expect me to stop my work for personal drama?-MH**

_I love you, but fuck off. -g_

_come home you idiot. -g_

"Sir?" Greg whipped his head around, smiling when he saw Oliver in the door frame, naked as the day he was born. The Dom spared one glance at his phone, no reply, and slipped it into his trouser pocket. 

"Right, come here," He crooked his finger, rolling up his shirtsleeves. 

The sub rushed to his side, slipping onto his knees, hands folded in his lap.

"Hands behind your back, in the center of the carpet...yes, there's a good boy," Greg smiled as Oliver obeyed, shuffling to the middle of the wide open room, his lush pink lip wobbling and his eyes drifting on the ground by Greg's feet. "This isn't anything too intense, boy. Green yellow red, and you tell me if anything is bothering you."

"Yes, sir,"

"You have been so good Ollie, you make me so proud," The Dom whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his soft, supple cheek. He stood, flipping open the top of his toolcase. "Eyes shut," He ordered. The boy obeyed. He fixed a thick black fabric blindfold around his eyes, looping a tight bow behind his head. 

Oliver let out his breath as his world was bathed in darkness. He shuddered, shivering as a breeze brushed against his bare skin. Gruff fingers grasped at his, and the sub licked his lips nervously. Rope. Rope winding around his wrists, tight but not too coarse. He leaned back into the warmth of Greg's body, whining short and softly and wriggling against the sensation, his neck tickling as he slid across Greg's bristly chin, and his whiskey breath fogged against Oliver's ear. 

" _Sir_ ," Oliver whined, tugging at his snuggly bound arms. The feeling sent a rush through his nerves, his stomach aflutter with butterflies. He felt heavy, so heavy, he could barely understand how he ever stood up at all. 

"Ah ah ah," Greg tutted, and Oliver mewled, lost and cold as the Dom stood. His shoes scuffed against the hardwood as he walked away.

"S-sir!" Oliver whimpered, wriggling, wobbly on his knees like a newborn fawn. He couldn't leave him! He couldn't just leave him here! 

"Trust me Oliver. Trust me. I'm right here," Greg sighed, hand ghosting down Oliver's bare chest, curling down his ticklish side, across his still bruised arse. A paper thin pressure that warmed through them, a connection of sparks and force, guiding Oliver down. Greg's right there. He's here and he won't go. 

"You're absolutely gorgeous, princess, absolutely stunning like this. All for me."

"Yours, sir," Oliver whispered, head bowed in prayer, mumbling words of gratitude, silent praises from his mouth. Greg's fingers brushed across the subtle, petal soft skin, shushing him.

"Quiet, Oliver. Quiet for me,"

The boy nodded, vigorously, pulling his disobedient lips between his teeth. He tugged at his bonds, shoulders slumped, Greg's hand pressing him down parallel to the floor. 

"Are you in your 'space, Olive?"

He shook his head, bushy curls fluffing at his ears. 

"Alright, that's alright. Better that you're down here with me, huh baby?" Greg whispered as he pet down the canyon of his spine. "My smart, brave, beautiful boy," 

Oliver could only hang his head. He'd been told to be quiet. He would be quiet. 

"Do you know how proud I am that you asked for this? My smart boy, knowing what he needs, asking for my help. What a good _good_ boy," He grinned, hand reaching across the nape of his neck, thumb brushing at his earlobe. 

"We had a real fright yesterday, didn't we?"

Oliver swallowed thickly, whining and shuffling forward, searching for Greg's knee. His chin slid across the fabric of his jeans, whimpering and rubbing at them like a cat marking his territory.

"Mycroft and I...well baby, it's like this. We met a long time ago, when Sherlock wasn't much older than you, baby. And we've had more than a few frights like last night. We should've known, we should've trusted you. You're not Sherlock, you're Oliver. And Oliver doesn't do drugs. I should've known something had happened, I should've helped you. I let you down."

Oliver was silent, his head hung against Greg's knee. The sub cried out as the black fabric slid away from his eyes, and the Dom's hand replaced it, easing the light back into his tired, weepy eyes. 

"Ollie, will you give us a second chance? Let us start over?"

The sub blinked, looking up with big round puppy eyes, nodding and shaking. 

"Yes, yes, sir."

"Oh baby," The Dom sighed, "you poor little button, you can cry if you like, love"

The sub didn't need to be told twice, the rivers gushing and his head thrown over Greg's clothed knee. The Dom sighed, hand resting on his nape as they sat. Everything would be okay.

This, this was okay. This is what he could hold on to- the heady, addictive powerlessness. The protection that came at his Master's feet, hands held behind his back. Greg only let the time tick by, the tears soaking into his jeans.

The sub didn't even notice when the phone in Greg's pocket buzzed a half hour later. 

**On my way -MH**


End file.
